Letter
by Hypnauhtical
Summary: This is another Married!Dean fic that I wrote. What if Dean was married with a wife? What if he didn't come back home? Read to see how she handles it.


**MD Fic - Letter**

_You didn't know that I was watching you. From the first day we met, when you took the last piece of apple pie at my favorite diner (sorry for calling you a bitch), to the day we got married when I watched the most stunning, amazing woman walking towards me, of all people. No one but you saw the tears in my eyes as I watched you read your vows to me. I watched as you tried, and failed, to keep from crying as I recited my own vows back to you._

_I'm watching you now, as I write this. You're sitting on the couch in one if my shirts and a pair of my sweatpants that are way too big on you. You don't have any makeup on, and your hair is plopped up on your head in a tangley mess._

_I'm watching you; taking in every bit of you, every little thing you do, because you're too good for me and I can't believe you're real. I'm memorizing every little thing about you in case you disappear in an instant… The way you push your glasses back up on your nose, the way you get so into a book you become lost to the world, the way you take forever to eat one piece of popcorn because you're so into what you're reading…_

_I love the way you talk about your students in class, how you have so much hope for them. I love how you see the good in things, and how you believe in second chances. Hell, if you didn't, we wouldn't be married. I love the way you love to fight, and I love the way that you aren't afraid to admit that you're wrong. I love that you don't hold a grudge and you can laugh off the little things without a worry._

_They say that there's a time for everything like, to weep and laugh and stuff like that, and you've always known how to react in the right times (another thing I love about you.)_

_This part is for you and Sammy, okay? I don't want you to be sad for too long. It's okay at first, but I want you to move on. Forget about me. I'll be down here in hell kicking some demon-ass._

_Sammy: You better protect her or I'm coming back to haunt your ass._

_Love,_  
_Dean_

When Sam first gave you the letter, you could tell something was wrong. His face that, no matter how bad the hunt had been, always held a childlike innocence was now emotionless, and hard set like Dean's.

"What happened?" You'd asked, tearing open the envelope. If you had only known what was in it and who it was from, you would have been more careful with it.

Dean sure knew how to get to the point, because he started the letter with, "If you're reading this, I'm dead." You supposed afterwards that it was probably something he'd always wanted to say, although not in the literal sense. After reading through the letter several times, the tears came and you sat on your living room couch in his favorite seat while Sam sat across from you, head in his hands. He didn't tell you what had happened, and you didn't particularly want to know, but he did tell you that something needed to be done with the body.

"Can we just hold on. Just for a few days?" You ask, unsure of what to do, because doing something with the corpse would make it official. "Sam… Dean told me… Didn't you die once? A long time ago?" You ask, trying to recall what Dean had said. Tears cascade down your face, new ones following the trail of the last, and you remember the animated way that Dean used to tell stories, making you hang on every word until he was finished. Sam's head snaps up at your question and his emotionless face is now fixed in an angry expression mirroring one that his brother would have.

"No! You're not doing that. He told me to protect you. You're my responsibility. What kind of brother would I be if I threw away his last request just to have him back?!"

"Sam, please!" You beg him. "I need him!"

"_No!_" His voice booms and you can imagine the house shaking. You slink back into Dean's seat, cradling the note and a picture of the three of you that was sitting on the coffee table in front of you. You'd never noticed it before now, but Dean wasn't looking at the camera in the picture, he was looking at you with the most gentle, loving expression on his face, something that not many people got to see. It was a shame because it fit him so well.

"What do we do?" You timidly ask after hours of silence. Sam doesn't speak as he stands, and you already know the answer to your question.

In the most secluded area of your country home, your husband's dead body lies burning on pile of wood. You whisper your last _'I love you'_ to him and toss both the letter and the picture into the flames before turning away.


End file.
